"Letty, Madge," she said, "do come here and look at this new dummy. It's got a lot of medals, and——"
She stopped with a little shriek. The "new dummy" had suddenly raised its right arm, saluting Bessie with military precision as it stepped slightly to one side, with the words—
"A votre service, Mademoiselle."
"Oh, oh!" gasped Bessie. "It's alive—it's—it's a man, a living soldier."
And so the supposed dummy was! A young officer, who, happening like the children themselves to be standing in front of the tailor's staring at the figures, had actually been mistaken by Bessie for one of the waxen group. He had entered into the joke, and remained perfectly motionless while the little girl made her investigation, doubtless explaining all to himself by the fact of her being a jeune mees—one of that extraordinary English nation of whom it is impossible to say what they won't do next.
Oh, how ashamed Bessie was! How scarlet grew Letty and Madge! But there was nothing to be done. The officer had already disappeared at the other end of the arcade with a second friendly and smiling though respectful salute.
One thought struck the three children—Susanne, the maid, was fortunately a little in advance and had not seen the strange mistake.
"Don't let's tell Lilian," they said. "She'd never get over it, she really wouldn't."
But mother—aunty as she was to Bessie—was told, and comforted the mortified and shamefaced little girl as well as she could.
"After all," she said, "it was nothing naughty; Bessie had not meant to be rude; and she was quite sure the officer had not thought her so."